


News Worthy

by SeraphHT



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multiple implied couples, News Media AU, Random friendships, alternate universe - AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphHT/pseuds/SeraphHT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roach is a photographer for The Hereford Times, disappointed that his career is uninteresting, since nothing ever happens in the quaint, quiet town of Hereford...that is, until a tall, mysterious stranger becomes the new talk of the town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just love writing couples in the alternate universe, where there's no death or blood and it's just fluff and love all around *_* 
> 
> BTW, lots of *implied* pairings here, but this romance AU story focuses solely on Ghost/Roach. Enjoy!

Walking out the door, Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson released a heavy sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose, his head still throbbing from the cries and shouts of the children he encountered earlier that day.

He remained in front of the office door for a few more minutes, attempting to appease the ache in his head by rubbing his temples, until a familiar, friendly voice called out to him.

“Hey, Roach!”

He looked up to see his friend, James Ramirez, approaching him with a wide grin on his face and a hand held up high.

“Hey, Ramirez,” Roach smiled weakly, giving his buddy a brief, warm handshake.

Ramirez invited him to his desk which was across the room. Offering him a chair, Roach took it and sat down next to dark-haired man at his desk. Ramirez turned on his computer, and, as he waited for the screen to light up, looked at Roach.

His lips curved downwards into a frown. “Dude, is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is, I’m just tired,” Roach shook his head. “Tired of taking pictures of boring stuff! I mean, I joined the company of _The Hereford Times_ as a photographer, thinking I’d be covering cool issues, not taking pictures of _school projects_ and _school children activities._ ”

Ramirez remained silent, a smirk slowly crossing his features, as Roach continued his complaints. “Today I had to go to kindergarten to take pictures of kids jumping around on Sports Day. I swear I’d be deaf if I spent another hour at that place, with the children screaming, crying and laughing.”

At this point, his friend chuckled, but Roach took no notice and sighed. “How does MacMillan think a kindergarten sports event would be exciting to read?”

“Almost nothing exciting happens in this cozy little town,” Ramirez reminded, turning to the ancient computer which finally started up. “And if you’re dissatisfied with your job, get in line. You think I became an editor to be bossed around and do pointless errands?”

“Bossed around?” Roach raised an eyebrow.

At that moment, a tall, dark-skinned man walked by the desk. He stared at them sternly and ordered, “Ramirez! Quit talking to Sanderson and start typing! Today’s issues aren’t gonna edit _themselves!”_

Ramirez rolled his eyes once his senior was gone. “Foley. It’s always _‘Ramirez, do this!’_ and _‘Ramirez, do that!’,_ and I can’t say anything because he’s the chief editor. Sometimes he asks me to get him coffee or what time it is, just because he doesn’t want to lift his head up to look at the wall clock, because he’s too caught up editing an issue on the computer.”

“Wow, you have it rough,” Roach frowned, sympathetic.

“Yeah, well, I’m used to it,” Ramirez shrugged, smiling at his friend. “Don’t worry, Roach. You’ll get that big break someday. You’re really good at what you do; I’m pretty sure MacMillan noticed.”

“ _Ramirez!_ Get your ass over to that vending machine and get me some coffee!”

“Yes, sir,” Ramirez sighed. He patted Roach on the shoulder as they both rose. “I’ll see you soon, bro.”

Roach smiled and they parted ways, with Ramirez heading for the vending machine, and Roach heading for the exit.

As he approached the doors, Roach met with Derek ‘Frost’ Westbrook, another fellow photographer of the weekly newspaper.

“Good evening, Roach,” Frost’s lips broke into a small grin. “Already on your next assignment?”

“MacMillan said he’ll be giving me a new assignment tomorrow,” Roach said after he shook his head. “What about you? What did you have to do?”

With a grimace, Frost handed his friend a few photos. “The opening of a new café is all. Since nothing ever happens here, we basically write about every frivolous thing that take place in this town.”

“Yeah, Ramirez said the same thing,” Roach laughed, briefly flipping through the pictures before giving them back to Frost. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Enjoy your day off,” The blonde smirked, walking up the stairs to enter _The Hereford Times_ headquarters.

Roach walked past the glass doors, taking a deep breath. A soft wind blew, brushing against his light skin and sand-coloured hair, whistling softly against his ear. The chilly atmosphere the town had endured over the months was slowly becoming warmer, and the sun was beginning to shine brighter each day, marking the arrival of spring.

Within an hour, the twenty-two year old had arrived at his home, and shoved his hands in his pockets in search of the keys to the gate. The domain was a small, comfortable place, a part of a terrace and close to the corner lot.

“Roach, it ain’t like you to be back from work so early,” John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, his neighbor and good friend, who just happened to be watering the plants on the front lawn, called out. With a cheeky smirk, he approached the fence between he and Roach. “Don’t tell me you got fired.”

“I didn’t get fired,” Roach retorted, rolling his green eyes, before returning the smirk. “The boss just said my new assignment will be given tomorrow…so I basically have the rest of the evening off.”

“I see,” Soap nodded slowly. Then, he gave the younger man an inquiring gaze. “You also look a bit upset, mate. Want to talk about it?”

Roach smiled weakly. Was it obvious on his face that he was frustrated with his job?

“When I signed up to be a newspaper photographer, I thought I’d be meeting new people, going to new places, experiencing new things and adventures,” Roach reluctantly began his rant. “I don’t know…I feel like I’m not making any progress, like I’m not making anything out of myself.”

“Oh, things aren’t going as planned, eh?” Soap frowned. He assured, “Don’t worry, lad, things will get better. Who knows, what if this MacMillan person gives you an exciting assignment tomorrow morning?”

Roach shrugged. In this town, the possibilities are limited, so Roach rather doubted Soap’s words.

* * *

__

“Good mornin’, Sanderson,” MacMillan greeted, in his thick accent which was similar to Soap’s, to Roach as he walked in through the doors of his office.

MacMillan looked young for his age. With auburn hair, dark blue eyes, a strong chin and thin wrinkles just creasing about his forehead and eyes, anybody who saw him would question him being fifty-four instead of plain forty.

“Good morning, sir,” Roach nodded, taking a seat in front of his boss. Glancing up to the clock, it was ten am. He was on the dot, sharpish, as usual. “My assignment?”

“Yes, I was just about to get to that,” MacMillan nodded and proceeded to explain, “See, the town park is beautiful this time of year. The flowers are in full bloom, the sun is shining, the air is warm, the trees are green, the lakes are sparkling—the scenery is stunning. It’s a nice sight for sore eyes after a brutal winter, eh?”

Roach nodded slowly, and the red-haired man continued, “I want you to head down to a park. It doesn’t matter which one. Take pictures of the scenery and bring ‘em back to me for publication. The second week of spring is the biggest issue for next week’s paper.”

“Of course, sir,” With a determined smile, Roach rose from his seat and gave a slight bow. Exiting the office, with camera hung over his neck, the young man nodded briefly to co-workers Ramirez and Frost, and sped down the stairs.

_‘Oh well, at least this assignment’s_ slightly _interesting,’_ Roach thought to himself, the edge of his lips ever-so-slightly curved upwards into a small smile. _‘No annoying kids, no headaches…a bit of flora is always a pleasant sight for sore eyes, as MacMillan said.’_

As he walked down the pavement towards a nearby park, he passed through some restaurants and outlets, where young women eyed and flashed him flirtatious glances. However, he took no notice of them, too caught up in imagining vivid colors of the flowers and trees.

Gary Sanderson was, by all means, a very handsome young man. He had a straight posture, a childishly sweet voice, bright green eyes, brownish-blonde hair and an alluring smile. And he was single, which made him the talk of the maidens of the town.

However, he wasn’t the only popular single man, though—Soap, Frost, Ramirez, Jake Dunn and Paul Jackson were also popular among the girls.

Roach knew he had admirers, but he never paid much attention to them besides waving and saying hi. They were all quite unattractive to him, for some reason. Oh well, Soap told him ‘The One’ for Roach will come one day…

Taking a deep breath, he finally set foot onto the concrete pavement leading into the park. Roach was at the largest public park in Hereford, and the scenery was, indeed just as MacMillan had described them, stunning.

Tall trees which had once been bare and sullen by the sides were now heavy with countless green leaves, leaning down onto the pavement, providing shade from the bright sun. The once snow-covered floors of the park were now green and full of life, with flowers poking out everywhere. The air, on the other hand, was now warm and breezy instead of being plain freezing.

Humming to himself, Roach proceeded to take pictures of the park. He knelt down to capture a ladybug, stood on the benches to get a non-panaromic view of the park and basically explored and shot everything there is to take a picture of.

About two hours into his assignment, the park began to flood with people. Though it was noon, the thick clouds which hung high in the sky blocked out all the sunlight, making it relatively shady for an afternoon in spring. Families walked around, groups of friends played football, young people jogged around, and couples strolled about.

Roach stopped and took a deep breath, standing on a bridge built across a small, artificial lake in the park. He looked down and smiled at his own reflection at the sparkling water.

At that point, two young women walked past him, giggling and becoming coy when they saw Roach by the bridge.

“Oh my, it’s Sanderson,” One of them said excitedly. Though they kept their distance, they still talked loud enough for him to hear. “Just look at him…isn’t he just the most handsome man you’ve seen in your life?”

A blush crept up to his cheeks, but he kept staring into the water and mantained a neutral expression.

“Maybe to _you_ , honey, but MacTavish is on the top of the list,” The other scoffed. “Older men are always more attractive.”

At this comment, Roach chuckled. It was fascinating to listen to these women.

“Oh, you! MacTavish isn’t _that_ good-looking,” The first woman retorted, sounding scandalized. “What about the other four men…Ramirez, Dunn, Westbrook and Jackson? I must admit, those four _do_ live up to their reputations of being handsome Americans.”

“I haven’t seen Westbrook before,” Her friend replied. “By the way, have you heard? There’s a new guy, slowly coming on the list.”

Roach slowly became interested, and eavesdropped on their conversation.

“What’s his name?”

“That’s just it! Nobody knows. But my girls say he has beautiful dark hair and the _most_ mysterious blue eyes. They’ve never seen him around, but he looks like a local. Yet, nobody’s heard him speak, so we can’t tell from his accent whether he’s from around here or not.”

“He sounds like he’s hard to approach.”

“Yes, they mentioned that. He’s basically emotionless, keeping a poker face every second of the day, and he ignores if anybody tries to talk or flirt.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed. It’s—oh wait, there he is!”

Hearing her exclaimation, Roach turned his head to face them. The woman was pointing in the opoosite way, and his eyes followed the direction in which she indicated.

An unfamiliar face immediately caught his attention.

Walking down the pavement leading to the bridge was a very tall man, standing at a stunning height of six-foot-two. His jet-black hair was side-sweeped on his head and his deep azure eyes stared down at the path in an intense gaze, lips in a straight line and eyebrows set into a _very_ slight scowl. The serious expression fitted with the mysterious aura he released, making him look like an interesting stranger hard to approach.

Even as this stranger approached the bridge, Roach found it very hard to look away. For some reason, his heart was racing and throbbing in his chest, and a red tint was creeping up to his cheeks. He can’t look away because he felt as though he _didn’t want to,_ and oh how he wanted to slap himself.

The tall stranger set foot on the wooden bridge and began walking across it. As he got closer, Roach received the priviledge of truly examining his features; the beautifully-sculptured nose, the fierce-looking eyes, the strong setting of the chin, the firm line of the lips.

He received a heart attack when the stranger looked up and stared back at him.

They mantained eye contact for a long time as the dark-haired man walked past Roach in his venture over the lake. However, his expression wasn’t serious as it originally was—it was a simple, neutral gaze, no glint of inquiry or anger in those blue orbs, no change of expression to that strong poker face.

Finally he passed Roach, and once he felt he had escaped from the heart-racing aura, he gulped loudly.

Glancing over his shoulder, Roach was surprised to find the stranger had disappeared. He scanned the crowd desperately in search of the mysterious stranger, but to no avail, and he frowned.

_‘Strange, how’d he disappear so fast?’_ Roach bit the insides of his cheeks, folding his arms. _‘He’s almost like a ghost…’_

He returned to staring at his reflection in the water. What happened just now? Why couldn’t he look away and escape that nerve-racking stare?

He put a hand to his chest and raised his eyebrows at the racing beats. Why was he feeling this way? Why was his heart beating so fast?

Wiping his face several times and releasing a sigh, Roach pondered. Looking at the stranger sparked an unknown feeling in him…something he never felt before. But it was a nice feeling—it was exciting and got him edgy, energetic, ecstatic, but made him feel weak and bashful at the same time.

Taking out a notebook, he pulled out a pen. He usually jotted down his assignments or reminders in the small memo pad, sometimes he even wrote down his grocery list on it. Flipping to an empty page, he wrote:

_Objective: Look for target and learn more about him._

He stopped and frowned, unsure. What should he call this mysterious stranger for the time being?

Subconsciously, his fingers moved the pencil lead about the paper.

_Callsign: Ghost._

Roach wanted to laugh at the nickname he came up for the stranger, but he couldn’t think of anything better. Oh well, at least it suited him.

* * *

__

“So…how are you holding up at work?” Jackson raised an eyebrow as the waitress left their table.

Roach was sitting down with two of his American friends, Paul Jackson and Jake Dunn, at a restaurant near his neighborhood. Though he originally wanted to have dinner with Soap and Gaz, they were busy that night so Roach decided to invite these two men instead.

“Today’s assignment was exciting, at least,” Roach shrugged. “Next week’s major issue is spring.”

“Yeah, I heard from Ramirez,” Dunn grinned. “The photos you took were awesome, man! You’re a natural with camera.”

“I’ve been to the park,” Jackson nodded, running his fingers through his dark hair. “The scenery really is beautiful. I’m happy to know for next week, the issue’s a bit more exciting than school events and museum openings.”

They shared a laugh as the waitress came by their table to give them their drinks. She flirtatiously winked at Jackson, who smirked and winked back, sipping on his drink. When she walked away, Dunn flashed his friend a lopsided smile.

“Always the playboy, eh, Jackson?”

“What? We’re on top of the list for the young girls around here. Better enjoy it, am I wrong?”

“Nope,” Dunn laughed, gulping down his drink, before turning to Roach. “Hey, buddy, is Foley still bossing poor Ramirez around?”

Roach responded with a small nod.

The brown-haired man laughed. “I knew it! Foley’s always so peremptory. Poor Ramirez.”

The three soon conversed into a light-hearted conversation, but quickly the topic took a turn when Jackson suddenly lowered his voice and looked around.

“By the way, you heard, right? There are two new strangers in town that the girls are talking about.”

Dunn raised an eyebrow. “Really? Isn’t having six men on the list enough already? Geez, the women in Hereford have some really sharp eyes.”

“Two?” Roach repeated, perplexed. “I overheard earlier today concerning only one.”

“Well, there’s one that looks like a local, but nobody’s sure,” Jackson explained. “And then this other one’s a Russian. It’s so easy to tell because his accent’s similar to Yuri’s and Nikolai’s. Not sure what his name is.”

“Oh, wait, I saw this new Russian guy when I was walking home a few hours ago,” Dunn rolled his blue eyes as he recalled encountering the newcomer. “The girls started gawking at him when he passed by. They said his name was Makarov.”

“How’d he react to the girls?” Roach raised an eyebrow.

“Well, he _completely_ and _rudely_ ignored them,” Dunn frowned, staring down at his drink. “Rolled his eyes, muttered something in Russian and walked past the girls like they were invisible. Poor chicks looked upset.”

Jackson chuckled. “You didn’t cheer them up, Jake?”

“Well, not by winking and flirting, like you would,” Dunn smiled. “I offered them some drinks, had a small chat and walked away. I think I reclaimed my rightful place as their favourite guy.”

“What did you talk about?” Roach asked.

“The girls told me about the other newcomer,” Dunn said. “Dark hair, blue eyes. They said he was _six feet tall._ Other than that, they really don’t know anything else about him.”

Suddenly Roach remembered staring into those intense blue eyes, and the elegance in all of his features. He recalled when the stranger walked past him, engulfing him in a mysterious and nervous aura, and the steady gaze on his face…

Roach subconsciously muttered the stranger’s nickname. “Ghost…”

“What?” Jackson asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

“Err, nothing,” Roach insisted, laughing nervously.

His friends eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds, but the food arrived at that time and the hunger began to really grip at them. Their attention was diverted elsewhere, with an exception for Roach, whose mind was still stuck on the mysterious newcomer.

Whoever Ghost was, Roach was _definitely_ going to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

Roach and Ramirez were walking side-by-side down the pavement, watching as a few cars drove by on the road beside them. It had been a full five days since Roach’s assignment at the park, and the latest edition of _The Hereford Times_ was published yesterday, which was Sunday.

It was noon and the two men were going out for lunch. Although Monday was Roach’s day off, he always came by the office to pick Ramirez up. It soon became a habit to go out for lunch or dinner with the American every beginning of the week. In fact, Roach spent time with different friends every day, except Sundays.

“I still remember my first few days as an editor,” Ramirez suddenly said, laughing as he recalled the year before. “There was a typo in one of my articles, and to this day, I still remember every word of Foley’s lecture.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that Dunn sends his sympathies,” Roach grinned.

“Urgh, Dunn, the lucky bastard,” Ramirez grumbled. “He somehow escaped Foley. I don’t know how, but he did.”

At this point, they turned right and entered a boulevard. Small, trimmed trees and plants line up the sides of boulevard, adorning the place with pleasant greenery and colourful flowers. The terraces on either side consisted of various outlets—department stores, pharmacies and restaurants. Noon often brought a lot of working people here, since it was close to offices and had many useful stores.

The warm wind blew, and the bright sun beamed down on them.

Roach’s brownish-blonde hair fell back from his face, showing off his charming, subconscious smile and almond-shaped, green eyes, his fair skin glowing underneath the sunlight. Ramirez, on the other hand, ran his fingers through his neat dark hair as the wind came, looking straight ahead with his sharp brown eyes, lips curved downwards into a small frown (since Dunn was still on his mind), his tan skin making him a wonderful contrast to his fair friend.

At the sight of two, the girls around couldn’t help but notice.

The café they were heading for was at the end of the boulevard, and as they reached halfway, Roach suddenly thought of Ghost. It had been five days since he last saw the mysterious stranger…he wondered where he was and what he was doing.

“Thinking about someone?” Ramirez nudged his friend in the ribs, waggling his eyebrows as a smirk crossed his face.

A blush tinted Roach’s cheeks. “N-No, what made you think that?”

“I just had that feeling,” Ramirez shrugged, before flashing his friend a lopsided smile. “And that was the most blatant lie I’ve ever heard in my life, Roach. So, who is this person?”

“I don’t know,” The Sanderson heir bit the insides of his cheeks, hoping his sort-of-the-truth answer would end the discussion.

Unfortunately, it only increased the other’s interest. “Oh, a stranger, hm? Haven’t seen the heart-stealer in a few days, I guess. Is that why you’re constantly…err, shall I say, disconnected?”

“Really?”

“Yeah…especially last week, two days after the park assignment, when we were talking with Frost. You said something about a ghost.”

The blush became deeper. “I did?”

Ramirez raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Yes, you did. Roach, does the word ‘ghost’ mean something to you? Dude, you aren’t _seeing_ or _hearing_ things, are you?”

“N-No,” Roach’s jaw dropped as he stared at his friend incredulously. Then, his eyes fell downcast and he murmured, scratching the back of his neck. “G-Ghost is just…a nickname.”

Ramirez stopped walking, stared at Roach for a few seconds, and then burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Roach wanted to punch Ramirez so badly.

“Of all nicknames to give this person, you decide on _Ghost?”_ Ramirez said between laughter. “Why call him that, pray tell?”

Looking around, and mortified that people were staring at his out-of-control friend, Roach grabbed Ramirez by the arm and dragged him further down the boulevard, cursing underneath his breath. Holding in his embarrassment, he grudgingly told Ramirez of his first encounter with Ghost and how he disappeared so quickly, hence the nickname.

“Oh, apparently this _mysterious stranger_ hasn’t only caught the eyes of the ladies, he’s caught the eye of one particular photographer as well,” Ramirez teased.

Roach blushed. “Shut it, Ramirez. I’ll probably never meet him again, anyway.”

“You never know, buddy,” Ramirez shrugged. “Have you told MacTavish yet?”

“Well…not yet,” Roach frowned. “Like I said, I’ll probably never meet Ghost again, so why make such a big deal of it?”

Before the other can reply, a shrill scream sliced through the peaceful atmosphere like nails on a blackboard.

Both men turn around in response to the abrupt cry, and saw that a small distance away, a woman was on the floor, pointing and screaming frantically after a man who had snatched her handbag. The said culprit was running at an incredible speed, approaching the two friends rapidly.

Without a word, Ramirez sprinted forward and threw himself onto the young man, forcing him down onto the floor. Roach watched, perplexed for a few seconds (for he had yet to register what was happening), which was long enough for Ramirez to successfully retrieve the handbag.

Unfortunately, though the American managed to get the stolen handbag, the perpetrator threw a punch to his face, momentarily stunning him. He pushed Ramirez off him and proceeded to run down the boulevard, empty-handed and desperate to escape.

The culprit ran past Roach, and finally getting a hold of himself, the Sanderson heir took his turn and chased after the criminal down the boulevard.

The unknown man pushed pedestrians down in his desperate escape, whereas Roach swiftly dodged and passed through the innocent civilians in his pursuit. Though the culprit was incredibly fast, Roach was athletically capable, so he slowly caught up with the other man.

Roach managed to grab the culprit’s arm, swiftly dodging a fast punch which came as a response. Mantaining the strong clutch on the criminal’s wrist, Roach dug his knee into the man’s abdomen. Desperately, the culprit channelled all of his energy to his leg and kicked Sanderson square in the stomach.

At the incredible pain which seized his midsection, Roach let go of the man’s arm and the culprit resumed his escape.

“No!” Roach cried out, his voice riddled with pain and helplessness, as the perpetrator continued to run.

It was then somebody else stepped up to help.

Roach’s green eyes widened as Ghost suddenly took pursuit, running up to the criminal with trained stamina and agility, tripping the target over with a professional kick to the leg. The culprit fell, face forward into the hard floor, and Ghost rolled him over and pinned his arms behind his back, keeping the struggling man under control as Roach staggered up to them.

Ghost stared down at the culprit with the hard and intense stare that he wore when Roach first saw him. However, as Roach drew near, he looked up and met with Sanderson’s green eyes, and immediately his hard glare softened.

This time, the mysterious and nerve-wracking aura that Ghost usually emitted was not present. Roach lost his breath when he met again with those sharp blue eyes, but he ignored his racing pulse and slightly-red burn in his cheeks as he wobbled up to Ghost.

The edge of Ghost’s lips was slightly curved downwards into a frown, and was that a glint of worry in his azure eyes?

“Wow, you got him,” Roach breathed out, wincing at the jabbing pain in his stomach.

“You alright, mate?” Ghost suddenly asked, his thick British accent hitting Roach like a slap to the face.

He could feel his cheeks burning. God, was that accent sexy. “Y-Yeah, I guess.”

“Good to hear,” The concern disappeared from his expression and he looked slightly relieved. Ghost looked down at the culprit and smirked, tugging on the man’s hair. “Bloody yank…the police are going to have a good word with you.”

The culprit cursed and struggled, but to no avail.

“By the way, thanks for helping,” Roach murmured, embarassed that he failed at the pursuit. Then, he muttered, “Err, let me handle him.”

Ghost rose to his feet and got off the criminal, with Roach taking his place.

At this point, Roach opened his mouth to say something, but Ramirez called out to him. Looking up, the American was approaching, waving a hand with the offended woman not far behind him.

“Great job, Roach!” Ramirez congratulated when he came near.

Roach frowned. “It wasn’t me who got him, Ramirez. It was—“ His words got caught in his throat when he turned, and learned that his crush had disappeared. Bewildered, Roach looked around, scanning the crowd of pedestrians which were starting to form a circle around them in search of the dark-haired stranger.

“It was?” Ramirez raised an eyebrow.

Roach stared at Ramirez with confusion. “It was Ghost who caught him.”

“Ghost? Where is he, then?”

“He disappeared, again,” Roach sighed, disappointed. Then, he shrugged the topic off. “Never mind. Have you called the cops?”

“They’re on the way,” Ramirez answered, before chuckling and offering to replace Roach. After settling on top of the culprit, Ramirez smirked at the brownish-blonde-haired man. “Think about it Roach, MacMillan would be psyched to know about this. This is good stuff for the next edition, especially since we experienced it first-hand.”

Roach remembered he had his digital camera in his pocket. Taking the device out, he took a picture of the culprit with a cheeky grin. “There’s the picture for the article. Now all that’s left is to have you write out the topic, Ramirez.”

The American had a sly smile on his face. “By the way, Roach, now I fully understand why you call him Ghost.”

Roach rolled his eyes, looking away. Praying the red tint of his cheeks weren’t so obvious, he replayed Ghost’s words and accent in his mind, his heart throbbing at the way his crush pronounced the words, and his cheeks burning when he recalled the glint of worry in Ghost’s sapphire eyes.

“Roach, you’re blushing.”

“Shut up, Ramirez.”

* * *

 

Soap gave his friend an ironic smile. “He has a sexy accent, eh?”

Roach groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “He just sounds _British,_ alright? Can you not use the word ‘sexy’?”

“Sorry, sorry,” MacTavish laughed sheepishly before taking another sip of his coffee. “British, as in…Gaz’s accent?”

“Almost, more-or-less,” Roach muttered.

It was night, and the two were at Soap’s house. The older man had prepared coffee for his younger friend and he before they sat down, since Roach’s purprose of coming over was to talk. The Scot was mildly amused by his friend’s _seemingly_ _hopeless_ crush, but he constantly assured Roach.

“I recall you telling me that you’ll never find your soulmate,” Soap smiled at his coffee. “And I remember telling you you’d find ‘The One’ someday. What if this person’s your soulmate? I mean, by the way you described the worry in his eyes, I think you’ve caught his heart, too.”

“What?” Roach scoffed, though the blush was creeping up to his cheeks. “Yeah right, Soap.”

“Hereford’s a small place,” The other shrugged. “There’s always the possibility you’ll meet him again.”

“That’s what Ramirez told me,” Sanderson sighed.

“If you see him again, be sure to start the conversation,” Soap chuckled. “Get to know more about him, mate; his age, his birthdate, his favourite colour or drink. If you both get engaged in a friendly conversation, what does that tell you?”

Roach frowned and pondered for a few minutes, before shrugging his shoulders. “I give up. So what if he and I start talking like normal? It doesn’t mean anything, romantically, that is.”

“You’re quite daft,” The Scot said blankly, wagging his head. When Roach gave him an inquiring look, he proceeded to explain:

“Roach, you told me that women described Ghost as ‘hard to approach and ignores if anybody talks or flirts’. This tells us he keeps to himself all the times. _But,_ if he suddenly gets into a deep conversation with you, doesn’t that mean he accepts you? It means you’re the only person he’s met in this town so far that he’s actually _comfortable_ with. Besides, with him asking questions concerning your health, it’s a big indication he _cares._ He _wants_ to know you, Roach, as much as you want to know him.”

Roach was silent for a few minutes, rather taken aback by how logical Soap’s explanation was.

However, Roach hummed thoughtfully and said, “You can’t just simply conclude he _cares_ about me, Soap. What if he asked me about my health because the kick I took looked serious?”

Soap threw a cushion at Roach, eye twitching in irritation. “Why can’t you be a bit open-minded, you numpty?”

In response, Roach laughed and pulled out his memo pad and pen. Smiling at his earlier note concerning Ghost, he wrote below it:

_‘Information collected: he is athletically capable. Has a British accent. Has the ability to disappear suddenly. Probably wants to know me better? Pfft. I wish.’_

* * *

 

When he exited MacMillan’s office, Frost was waiting outside with a half-frown, half-smile.

“You lucky bastard,” The blonde nudged Roach. “The boss must be as excited as hell to know you and Ramirez had front-row seats to something so juicy. He must have given you a raise.”

Roach smiled sheepishly. “If it’ll make you feel better, how about a trip to the arcade tonight?”

“If you’re paying, count me in,” Frost laughed, patting his friend on the back. Then, lowering his voice, and a mischievious glint in his blue eyes, he whispered, “By the way, I heard from Ramirez—what’s this about a man you named Ghost?”

Immediately Roach’s smile disappeared and he groaned. “Urgh…why did Ramirez tell you that?”

“He only told me,” Frost assured.

“Don’t you have an assignment?” He was still unwilling.

“Yes, I do,” The blonde nodded, abruptly grabbing Roach’s arm and dragging him out of the headquarters. “Come on; walk with me to the musuem. I have to take a picture of the newest artifact. It just arrived.”

“Why can’t you go alone?”

“So you can tell me about Ghost on the way.”

With a grunt, Roach complied, and the two began their walk. After telling him of Ghost, and of his encounter with him the day before, Frost hummed thoughtfully.

“Wow, he must be really good-looking,” he said, smiling ironically. “Now that he and this Makarov guy are in the picture, there’s going to be some real competition to be on the top of the list.”

Ignoring the subject, Roach counterattacked. “How’s it going with you and…Sandman, is it?”

Frost blushed and looked at him, scandalized. “Seriously, Roach?”

“What?” he smiled cheekily.

At this point, they passed by a nearly-empty, expensive-looking restaurant with glass windows and doors. Roach just happened to look in, and almost received a heart attack when he found Ghost sitting alone at one table.

He stopped in his tracks, and Frost looked at him, confused. “Err…Roach?”

“Umm, I have to go, buddy,” Roach coughed, looking at the blonde guiltily. He rubbed the back of his neck and murmured, “I’ll see you later.”

Despite still puzzled, Frost slowly walked away. “O-Okay…I’ll see you soon.”

Roach watched until the American had fully receded into the distance before hastily entering the restaurant. He nodded briefly at the welcoming waiters, approaching Ghost’s table quietly, and once he was near enough, pulled out a chair and joined him.

Ghost looked up from the menu, raising his eyebrows in surprise. His expression amused Roach, for it was the first time he saw him with a look other than serious, neutral or concerned.

“Hey,” Roach grinned. Where was all this courage coming from?

“Hi,” The edge of Ghost’s lips curved into a smirk. “You’re the photographer from yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Roach nodded, asking for another menu from a nearby worker. “Err…you don’t mind me being here, do you?”

“No,” Ghost replied, suddenly looking amused. His answer relieved Roach. “Not on an assignment today, I see. Was your boss happy with what happened yesterday?”

“Very,” Roach laughed. Then, he stopped and looked at his crush with an arched brow. “Wait… how did you know I’m a photographer?”

A shrug. “I noticed. How old are you? You seem a bit too young to be a photographer.”

“Really?” Roach looked at him, bewildered. “I’m twenty-two.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow. “Twenty-two? Bloody hell, that’s only four years younger than me. I could’ve sworn you were eighteen. You look that age.”

“Huh,” Sanderson looked down at the menu, unsure whether that was compliment.

The waiter approached their table. Roach asked for plain water and a small meal, whereas Ghost ordered tea.

“Don’t tell me you came to a place so expensive just to get a cup of tea,” Roach smiled.

Again, his crush responded with a shrug. “It’s my favourite drink. Besides, the food is so bloody expensive, but I heard the tea here is killer.”

A wider smile threatened to show on Roach’s face, but he suppressed it. It was actually quite funny to know Ghost liked to drink tea.

Silence fell upon them as they were at a loss for a topic to talk about. The awkward situation and avoidance of eye contact proved almost unbearable for Roach.

“I heard people are saying I’m hard to approach,” Ghost suddenly started, leaning back against his chair and calmly staring into his green eyes. “That’s not it, actually. I dare say I’m a playful person. I’m just very quiet around places I’m unaccustomed to.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Roach smiled. “In Hereford, the women are prowling around for new meat. You’ve caught their eyes, you know—the newest guy on the ‘list’.”

“Hmm, I always knew I was handsome, but…” Ghost’s lips slowly curved upwards into a smile as he rubbed his jaw, earning a chuckle from Roach. They stared at each other for a few seconds with the small smiles still lingering on their faces, as though they got lost in each others eyes, until the dark-haired man asked, “Yesterday wasn’t actually the first time we met, right?”

Roach blushed slightly and laughed nervously. “Y-Yeah…I thought you wouldn’t remember that.”

“I saw you at the bridge in the park,” Ghost said, looking up at the ceiling. Then, he murmured softly, as though to himself. “I remember those eyes…”

Having unintentionally heard the comment, Roach blushed and looked away, pretending he hadn’t caught the last sentence Ghost uttered. As he did so, a million thoughts ran through his mind.

_‘Remember those eyes?’_ Roach thought to himself, biting the insides of his cheeks. _‘He remembers staring into my eyes…’_

“By the way, why did you disappear yesterday?” Sanderson asked as the waiter came with their drinks and his small meal. He took a small sip as he waited for an answer.

“I’m not so good with crowds in a place I’m not used to…” The other replied, slowly smirking. “Besides, being new here, I’m not one for a lot of attention. Especially since I recognized the American editor for _The Hereford Times._ ’

“Oh, Ramirez?”

“Yes. I knew if I stuck around, the lad would come up and bombard me with all kinds of questions for the article.”

They shared a laugh. Roach felt good to be talking to Ghost like this.

“By the way, why are you in town?”

Ghost scratched his chin and frowned, thinking for a few moments before replying, “I’m here to start a new life. Get a job, make some friends and…maybe even find my soulmate.”

At the last few words, his eyes wandered from the ceiling to Roach’s eyes, and the other felt his heart pound against his ribs. Again, silence settled between them as they mantained their soft gaze, lost in each other’s eyes…

It was then Roach’s phone beeped.

Abruptly, he started to fumble around his pockets, finally pulling the device out and squinting at the screen. He had received a text message from MacMillan, concerning another assignment.

“Damn it, I have to go,” Roach cursed, rising from his seat.

“What about your food? You’ve hardly taken a bite,” Ghost raised an eyebrow, though he looked a bit disappointed as well.

“Err…you can eat it,” Roach said, pushing the plate towards Ghost’s end of the table. When the dark-haired man frowned, a smile crossed the Sanderson heir’s face. “I insist. And let me pay, if you’re worried.”

Ghost suddenly looked guilty. “Geez, mate, you don’t have to use up your own money to—“

“No, no, it’s my treat,” Roach insisted, pulling out his wallet. He slapped a bill onto the table and quickly made way for the door. “I have to go. See you later.”

Ghost watched with an amused smile as the younger man walked out of the shop.

Roach felt proud of himself for his gentleman-like gesture towards his crush, and he was so caught up in his thoughts until he reached the headquarters. However, as he ascended the stairs, he remembered something that immediately drained his good mood.

_‘Of all things to forget asking him, I forget to ask his name and number…’_


	3. Chapter 3

Roach groaned and hid his face in his hands as Gaz bellowed with laughter.

“Hold up, this is rich, mate,” Gaz sputtered between his laughs, slamming his fist on the table in his fit of mirth. “You call him _Ghost?_ Does he know you call him that?”

“What is so wrong with the nickname ‘Ghost’?” Roach frowned, recalling how Ramirez found the callsign humorous. Personally, he considered the nickname fitting for his crush’s character. “It’s actually kind of cool, isn’t it?”

“Well, no—seriously, what the hell kind of name is Ghost?” Soap knitted his eyebrows together, taking a sip of his drink.

“Oh, like _Soap_ is a completely normal nickname,” Roach rolled his eyes.

Soap laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “You got me there, mate.”

Wednesday nights were the nights where Roach, Soap and Gaz usually went out together. On that particular Wednesday evening, as the sun was setting far in the horizon, the trio were at a pub, seated at a round table by the corner of the place, away from the slowly increasing crowd of people coming and going from the dancefloor in the middle of the large, rectangular room.

“Enough about Ghost,” Roach waved an impatient hand. “Have you guys heard of the fashion show coming on tomorrow night? I’m assigned to head down there with Frost and Ramirez.”

“Fashion show?” Soap raised an eyebrow. “In Hereford? Why in our small town?”

Gaz smiled ironically. “Hereford’s a quaint place, so the clothes still have a… _historical_ touch to them, like long evening dresses and old-fashioned shoes. Since our town’s full of young, lovely ladies, bored of the common picturesque style of their hometown, why not a brand new, modern and chic fashion line, eh?”

“You have a point,” Soap muttered, imagining women in bright yellow dresses, high-waisted jeans and shirts with translucent sleeves.

Roach laughed nervously. “MacMillan said that the local journalists can go for free, and I can bring a few people along. You guys want to come to the show?”

His friends stared at him incredulously.

“Why the devil would I want to go to a fashion show?” Gaz grunted, taking a few gulps of the alcohol in his glass. “To a place full of fashion loonies—wankers who have nothing better to do but criticize every inch of your bloody self! From the angle of your nose to the length of your feet! Sorry, Roach, but count me _out_ of this one, though I’m well aware a lot of young girls would be there.”

Roach nodded in understanding, before turning to Soap. The Scot had an amused smile on his face. He leaned back against his chair and raised an eyebrow, lips still curved upwards. “What makes you think I should go to the show?”

“Er—well…” Roach looked away and scratched his cheek. His lips were in a hesitant frown. “I mean, you’re single. Unlike Gaz—who would get in bed with almost every man and woman he can get—“ (At this comment, Gaz grinned) “you hardly pay attention to anybody, Soap, and I’m worried… you _are_ the oldest of us, being twenty-nine. If you followed me to the show, well, who knows? What if you find somebody special?”

Soap’s smirk widened. “Hmm…reasonable answer, Roach. Alright, I’ll go. Who else is coming?”

“Besides my co-workers, Jackson and Dunn are tagging along.”

Gaz snorted. “Jackson, that bloody yank? There to get all the women he can get, for sure.”

Jackson and Gaz shared a mutual dislike towards each other, for some reason. Roach glanced at Soap with a lopsided smile, before he raised his glass and called out, “Enough about that. Here’s to a great Wednesday night. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” The other two cried in unison, clanking their glasses together.

* * *

 

The fashion show on the following Thursday night took place at a large hall about thirty minutes from Roach’s neighborhood. The six friends who were scheduled to be present to the event met at the entrance of the auditorium, all dressed in ravishing suits and looking their best.

“Looking good, Jackson,” Dunn grinned, running his fingers through his own neat brown hair. “Not as handsome as me, though—but still good.”

Jackson flashed Dunn a small smirk. “Let’s see what the ladies think, eh?”

“What about MacTavish?” Frost nodded at Soap, a charming smile playing on his face. “Even with a mohawk he could sport a tuxedo right.”

“Cut the adulation, mates,” Soap smiled. “Are we going in or not?”

With that, the group of friends entered. Pillars of beautiful structure lined each side of the large hall, the floor of pristine, expensive marble polished, without a speck of dust on them, the runway brightly-lit and grandly decorated with golden ribbons and curtains. Speakers hung from the corners of the rooms, a small DJ station at one dim corner nearby the runway which connected to the stage, the precious chandelier hanging from the ceiling, its sparkling diamonds suspended in the air like jewels.

On either side of the runway were countless rows of chairs, most of which were already occupied by improtant-looking people and eager residents of Hereford. Finding an empty spot with sufficient seats for all six of them, they settled down comfortably, waiting for the show to start.

From left to right, this was the order of how they sat: MacTavish, Roach, Dunn, Frost, Ramirez and Jackson.

Dunn leaned towards Roach and whispered, “Aren’t you and Frost going to find a good place to shoot some photos?”

“Well, the show hasn’t started yet,” Roach replied. “And when the show does start, Frost and I will have fifteen minutes to find a good spot. Those fifteen minutes are usually just introductions, announcements and stuff.”

Dunn frowned, and Roach caught the look of impatience in his blue eyes. Though confused about it at first, he quickly got the idea Dunn wanted Frost to leave quickly because of Ramirez…the blonde _was_ between them, after all.

Roach nudged him lightly with his elbow, smirking. “Dude, if you want to sit next to Ramirez, just switch places with Frost. No big deal.”

He noticed the blush on Dunn’s cheeks. “W-What are you talking about, man?”

“Pfft, like it isn’t obvious you have a crush on Ramirez,” Roach grinned.

Suddenly the lights went off—the brightness disappeared—and darkness consumed the large hall, all traces of gossip and talk ceased with the sudden transition. The lights glared at the stage, and as music of a catchy tune found its way to the spectators’ ears, an important-looking young woman, dressed in beautiful clothes, revealed herself and walked down the runway.

In her hand was a microphone. At this point, Roach and Frost simultaneosly rose from their seats and took their cameras out. Dunn watched as they stepped out of their row, before heading for the space between the runway and the spectators, completely receding into the darkness of the room.

Dunn sat at Frost’s empty spot. He leaned towards Ramirez to whisper something, but at the same time, Ramirez leaned towards him, so this caused their foreheads to bump.

After a few chuckles and apologies, Dunn asked Ramirez to go first. He pointed to the young woman on stage. “That’s the designer of the new fashion line,” he told Dunn. “I’m going to interview her after the show.”

“She’s a bit too young to be a hot-shot designer,” Dunn looked doubtful.

MacTavish glanced at Dunn and Ramirez from the corner of his eyes, his lips curling upwards into a smug smile. He whispered to himself. “I wonder why they haven’t just confessed to each other already, those two numptys.”

Then, he released a small sigh, folded his arms and scanned the crowd. _‘Roach thought I’d find somebody special here…I hope he’s right…’_

After a short announcement from the designer, the fashion show started and the music boomed in a comfortable volume as models emerged from backstage, dressed in fabulous and susprisingly beautiful clothes, strutting down the runway.

Pressing the shutter, adjusting the lens and flashes of the camera became common among the two young photographers of _The Hereford Times._

“Whoever’s the DJ, he’s got a great taste in music,” Frost commented with a chuckle, reviewing the recent pictures he shot.

Roach didn’t respond for a while, too engrossed in focusing on the approaching model. After taking a photo he smiled and replied, “I’ll be sure to send your regards.”

Thirty minutes into the show, there was a break. The lights went back on, but the environment was still dim. Spectators rose from their seats and exited the hall to visit nearby restaurants, for the cold atmosphere rendered them hungry. Half of the party filed out the door, and the six friends regrouped near the runway.

“So, Frost is following me to meet the designer for the interview,” Ramirez said. “Roach, you can take pictures of the hall. Dunn, you go with Jackson and MacTavish and order some food for us. Geez, I’m hungry.”

“Sure thing, dude,” Dunn grinned, and the group parted ways.

* * *

 

Roach admired the skill of whoever organized the fashion show. The golden theme of the runway suited the majestic, white auditorium. He appreciated the fantastic architecture and clever mixture of colours, and was delighted with the photos he took with his camera.

He reached the end of the hall. After taking one final picture, Roach decided he had accomplished his task, and was about to call Soap to ask for the name of the restaurant they were at, until he realized the DJ station near the runway.

With a lopsided smile, he remembered Frost’s comment concerning the music, and thought to himself, _‘It won’t hurt to give the DJ a compliment.’_

He approached the station. Even in the dim environment he could see somebody was attending to the station, fumbling with the electronics.

With a friendly smile, Roach spoke once he was close enough. “Hey, I just wanted to tell you that my friend—“

He almost received a heart attack when the DJ looked up. Roach felt as though he wasn’t looking at a human—he met with the grinning face of a skull, on which was entirely gruesome and shocking at first glance, and the eyes where the sockets should be were replaced by a pair of red-tinted eyewear.

The DJ hummed in inquiry, and Roach released a sigh of relief, putting a hand to his chest. He exclaimed, “God _damn,_ man! Why are you wearing that? I almost died of shock!”

The skull balaclava-wearing DJ stared at him for a few seconds, before snapping his fingers and chuckling good-humoredly. He said, in a slightly muffled voice, “Well, well! If it ain’t the young photographer from Monday! How’re you doin’, mate? I haven’t seen you for a while.”

Roach widened his eyes. He could recognize that accent from anywhere…

“Ghost?” he asked, staring at the DJ incredulously.

“Umm—no, I’m…Simon Riley,” The stranger finally introduced himself, a smirk growing under his mask. “What did you just call me? Ghost?”

Roach blushed and hesitated to explain. “Uh…er—well, I didn’t know your name up until just now, so…Ghost was just a callsign I used for you.”

His crush hummed. “That’s actually a really good one. I think I’ll keep it. Fits with my skull balaclava.”

Roach smiled, feeling rather flattered Ghost approved of the callsign his friends considered ridiculous. Extending a hand, Roach introduced himself. “I’m Gary Sanderson.”

“Sanderson…” Ghost murmured, sending tingles down Roach’s spine. The way he said his name was exhilarating.

“What are you doing here?” Roach asked, his lips breaking into a handsome grin.

“I’m the DJ, of course,” Ghost said proudly. “I have a job now.”

“That’s great!” Roach patted him on the shoulder. Then, with a slightly apologetic tone, he invited, “Now that you’ve got a job, you should do well with some buddies. How about I introduce to some of my friends?”

“Sounds okay, as long as you’re there,” Ghost replied, sounding a bit sheepish.

With a fuzzy/accomplished feeling settling in his chest, Roach led Ghost out of the auditorium and took out his phone. A brief call revealed Soap and the rest were at a restaurant west of the auditorium, a humble restaurant with modest prices and good food.

“By the way, I should probably warn you that some of us have callsigns,” Roach smiled ironically, glancing at Ghost as they walked for the said restaurant. “You can call me Roach.”

“Roach,” Ghost repeated, amused. “You don’t mind if I alter that to Bug, do you?”

“No problem,” Roach smiled, hoping the slight burn on his cheeks wasn’t visible…did Ghost just ask him permission for a special nickname?

They entered the restaurant, and Soap waved a hand. Apparently, Ramirez and Frost have already completed their interview and were sitting with the other three at a table for eight people.

Soap stared inquiringly at Roach when he drew near, with the masked man behind him.

“Guys, this is Simon Riley,” Roach said as he sat at a spot next to Soap, whereas Ghost sat next to Roach.

“Call me Ghost,” he insisted, and Roach immediately received smirks (more like stupid grins which made Sanderson want to punch them) from Soap, Ramirez and Frost.

After introductions, necessary chit-chat and placement of orders, the whole group became engrossed in a deep conversation, one filled with laughter and good humour.

Ghost whispered to Roach. “They’re a good lot, Bug,” he smiled warmly. “Thanks.”

“You’ll get along just fine with them,” Roach laughed. “By the way, do you wear that balaclava often?”

“Every chance I get,” Ghost chuckled, a gloved finger trailing along the mask’s cheek. “I should probably take it off, though—there’s no way I could eat with this bloody thing on my face.”

Removing the eyewear and balaclava, Roach subconsciously smiled at his newly-revealed, intense features.

A short while later, a waitress came to their tables and served their food—all of the said food being healthy meals of hearty burgers and carbonated drinks. Laughing and joking, they tucked into their meals, everybody eating with different levels of manners.

Roach watched with amusement when Ghost stuffed his burger into his mouth, the sauce reaching his high cheekbones as he hastily chewed. Now he understood what Ghost meant by ‘a playful person’—the Ghost he now considered a friend was nothing alike to the inapproachable, mysterious stranger he first met last Wednesday.

“Wait,” Roach suddenly said, and Ghost stopped to look at him.

He reached a hand out and gently, with one thumb, wiped away some sauce from his cheek. Roach chuckled. “Do you always eat like that?”

Ghost didn’t respond immediately—he seemed lost in thought. He stared into Roach’s eyes, mantaining the eye contact for several seconds, his lips curled slightly upwards into a smirk, a glint of amusement in his azure orbs.

“Ghost?”

“Hmm?” Ghost snapped out of his thoughts.

Roach smiled and wagged his head. “It’s nothing,” he said, taking a bit of his burger.

However, he noticed, from the corner of his eyes, as Ghost lightly touched the spot on his cheek from where the sauce was wiped from his face.

* * *

 

The seven men returned to the auditorium, where the show was scheduled to restart in ten minutes. The huge hall was slowly filling with the spectators. Ghost returned to the DJ station, Jackson forced Frost to follow him backstage to meet the models, and Dunn dragged Ramirez away for a private talk, leaving Soap and Roach to amble back to their original seats.

“He’s actually fond of the nickname you gave him,” Soap smirked, stirring a conversation. “Really gave me a surprise when he insisted on being called Ghost.”

“It surprised me, too,” Roach had a smug smile on his face, his fingers intertwined and cheeks heating up from remembering the pleasant moment. “And we’re friends now…”

Soap chuckled. “He’ll eventually become something more to you, Roach, I bet on it.”

His blush increased. “Y-You think so?”

“I know so,” The Scot assured.

After a few moments of silence, Roach raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Wait…the whole reason I invited you here was to find somebody special for you. Has anyone caught your eye?”

“Nope.”

Roach frowned, but before he could say anything, somebody collided into his friend. Soap stumbled back, nearly falling, soft curses leaving his mouth. Whoever hit him cursed as well—but in a foreign language.

“Watch where you’re going!” he hissed, the thick Russian accent hitting their ears unpleasantly, especially with all the venom in his words.

Roach identified the man as Makarov.

“What a bastard…” Soap muttered, watching Makarov’s back as he disappeared into the crowd. Roach nodded in agreement, following his friend’s gaze.

Soap turned to face forward and continue walking, but immediately stopped in his tracks.

Noticing the sudden tenseness, Roach asked, following his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Soap was staring at somebody. Roach didn’t know who, but the Scot was looking at a crowd of seated people which were facing them.

“Shite…” The Scot murmured, a blush creeping up to his cheeks. “That’s one handsome man, Roach.”

“Who?” Roach inquired hopefully.

“The one with…is that a boonie hat?” Soap chuckled, but it wasn’t his usual chuckle—it seemed more of a short, love-struck, nervous laugh, and with ease and excitement, Roach spotted the man in question.

“Do you want me to introduce you to him?” Roach offered, beaming with a kind of proud happiness. It was the first time in a long time that Soap showed interest in any particular person.

“We’ll end up looking like numptys, mate,” Soap laughed.

With much difficulty, the Scot dragged Roach back to their seats. Ramirez seemed a bit embarrassed, with his hair a bit rustled, Dunn had a smug smirk on his face, Jackson was blabbering about how he had a few numbers from some of the models, and Frost had a small blush on his face.

“Sandman?” Roach asked Dunn, referring to the blushing blonde.

“Probably,” Dunn chuckled. “He got a call from Sandman. Must’ve been asked out or something, cause I’ve never seen him so red.”

“What about you?” Roach inquired suspiciously. “You sound and look pretty satisfied.”

Dunn shrugged innocently, and the Sanderson heir glanced at Ramirez. It took a few seconds, but Roach finally got the idea that the ‘private talk’ between Dunn and Ramirez wasn’t actually a talk at all. It was something else, and Roach had a good idea what that something else was, and he knew for a fact Dunn received the outcome he desired.

The second part of the fashion show was not photographed. Eventually, about an hour later, the (surprisingly entertaining) fashion show ended, and the crowds were thinning out.

Roach searched for Ghost, only, with shock, learned he was talking amiably to the man who caught Soap’s eye.

The man was much older than him—probably two decades his senior. His brown beard was neatly trimmed about his firm jaw and strong chin, the serious glint in his blue eyes quite piercing when Roach looked at him, and the gruffness of his voice was sure to take Soap’s breath away.

“Bug, meet a friend of mine,” Ghost called out when he spotted Roach approaching them. “I wasn’t completely alone coming to Hereford. I had a friend here, and here he is—his name’s Price. I just didn’t know he’d be coming to the event tonight.”

“Only came to make sure you kept your arse out of trouble,” Price smiled, shaking Roach’s hand warmly. “ _Ghost,_ as the muppet wants to be called from now on, told me about you, Roach. He’s really fond of you.”

“ _Yeah,_ shut it, old man,” Ghost immediately snapped. Roach watched with mild bewilderment mixed with amusement as Price chuckled.

 Soap approached at that moment. “Hey, Roach, are you gonna—“

Roach smirked when Soap’s eyes locked on Price. The older man, on the other hand, scanned Soap from head to toe, a kind of approval glinting in his eyes.

“Price, this is MacTavish, a good friend of mine,” Roach wasted no time introducing. “Just like me, though, he has a callsign—Soap.”

“Soap,” Price said thoughtfully. He shook hands with the Scot, smirking at him. “Strange name, but—nice to meet you.”

Soap smiled. “Nice to meet you too, Price.”

Soap and Price soon became engaged in a conversation, whereas Ghost and Roach watched them with smirks on their faces.

“Tell MacTavish some good news—that Price is single,” Ghost said, and both of them shared a laugh.

“By the way, do you have to pack up?” Roach asked, referring to the DJ station.

“Yep. You’re going home now, right?”

“That’s true.”

Ghost pulled out a pen and paper. He scribbled something on it, and then handed it to Roach. The younger man accepted the paper, and stared with surprise at the digits written on them. It was Ghost’s number…

“Listen…Bug, if you’re free tomorrow evening…” Ghost started, sounding a bit nervous. Roach hummed, looking eagerly into Ghost’s blue eyes, as he continued, “You don’t mind if we hit the bar?”

Roach’s heart skipped a beat. “S-Sure.”

“Awesome!” Ghost grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Let’s just say, on that particular Thursday night, Gary Sanderson went home a very happy man.


	4. Chapter 4

The interior of Roach’s house was simple and quaint. A loveseat was backed up against the wall, a worn-out armchair sat by its side, and both seats faced the small television that Roach rarely watched. By the side of his living room was a small table with only one chair, and near this lone chair was a small mirror meant to serve as décor.

However, Roach was currently using it as a mirror to gussy up.

He smiled in satisfaction, admiring his own features. The sand-coloured hair, combed neatly on his head; his face was smooth, clean-shaven and unblemished; his general appearance, thanks to his wise selection of clothes, making him look a bit older and mature. A black button-up shirt with red collars served as his top, whereas dark jeans and shoes completed his outfit for the evening.

Adjusting a crease on his shirt, he looked up at the clock, to learn it was half past six. Roach hardly slept the previous night, having been too caught up in excitement for his appointment with Ghost. Yet, he did not feel deprived of sleep in any way—on the contrary; he was energized and eager for this ‘date’.

_‘It’s already six-thirty,’_ Roach thought to himself, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. _‘Ghost said “evening” yesterday…’_

He looked down at the phone in his hands. There were a few minutes of contemplation and hesitation—should he wait for Ghost to call, or should Roach call him first? It _was_ getting pretty late for evening…

Roach decided to wait.

Five minutes later, his phone beeped and he looked down eagerly at the text message the device had received. However, his excitement was crushed when he learned it was a message from Ramirez.

_‘Dude, MacMillan loves the photos! You and Frost are awesome. I’m super-psyched that the boss let me write out the fashion article—you should have seen Foley’s face!’_

Roach smiled. It pervaded his frame with a sense of happiness for Ramirez upon knowing that the American was improving in his career as an editor.

Keeping a mental note to reply to the message later, Roach turned off the screen and stared into his reflection, mind drifting off to meaningful thoughts. Now that he thought about it…wasn’t _he_ also improving in his career?

It was strange—things in Hereford _have_ been a bit interesting lately. It seemed as though everybody benefited from the changes…

His train of thought vanished when his phone rang. Again, his heart leaped to his mouth and excitement pervaded his frame as he looked down at the contact.

And, once again, his hope was squashed to pieces.

Suppressing his disappointment, Roach answered the call, hoping he didn’t sound too morose. “Hello?”

_“Roach, I hear from Soap that you have found your true love!”_ Nikolai exclaimed happily from the other line. _“Let us go get drunk tonight to celebrate.”_

“G-Ghost isn’t my lover, alright? He’s still just a friend,” Roach blushed. Then, he continued, still embarrassed and apologetic in tone. “And, I’m not free tonight. Sorry, Nikolai, you’ll just have to go and get drunk with Yuri or Gaz.”

_“Yuri is busy dealing with some surprise and Gaz is being a bastard because today is ‘Watermelon Day’,”_ Nikolai sighed. _“Where are you going tonight?”_

“Ghost and I are going out to the club,” Roach replied.

For some reason, the Russian chuckled, and this made Sanderson frown. “What?”

_“My friend, sit back and consider for a moment. You are going out on a beautiful night with the king of your heart, to a place where it is dim, where music plays all night long, where the supplies of booze are endless…”_

“So?”

Nikolai chuckled again. _“Think about it my friend. It is possible, is it not, for you to wake up tomorrow morning, naked and arms draped around him, in his bed at his home?”_

It took a while for Roach to fully register Nikolai’s long sentence, but when he finally did, his face absorbed into a deep shade of red. Inappropriate images of him and Ghost began to involuntarily appear in his mind.

He sputtered, “W-What the—how dare you—I’ll never-- _Urgh!_ Nikolai!”

_“I wish I was there to see your face!”_ Nikolai exclaimed as he roared with laughter.

Roach remained silent for a while, soft curses leaving his mouth as he coped with embarassment. However, a sentence that Nikolai mentioned earlier suddenly came to mind, and Roach skilfully directed their conversation elsewhere.

“By the way, what do you mean by ‘Yuri is dealing with surprise’?”

There was some silence. _“Yuri tells me that the new Russian in town—Makarov, his name is—used to be one of his closest friends. He’s just quite shaken to see Makarov again after some time.”_

“Oh, I see. Wait, you know, right, that Makarov’s quite a good creature to look at for the girls?”

_“Is that so?”_ Nikolai’s voice had a hint of worry in it. _“So, this Makarov man is a rich businessman_ and _a good sight for sore eyes? Quite the package…”_

Roach scoffed. “If you include being a jackass as the ‘full package’, then you’re stupid.”

_“Ah, no wonder Yuri dislikes him.”_ Nikolai sounded a bit relieved this time.

Roach remained silent for a while, a grimace crossing his features. “Hmm…so Makarov’s a businessman, eh? I’m pretty sure he’ll be in the news, too…that means I’ll have to visit him some time soon.”

_“By the way, you are not the only one I hear who is finding love. Soap sounded quite lovestruck when I called him earlier today.”_

Roach chuckled. “You have _no_ idea, Nikolai. Not just Soap, too—Frost and Ramirez have quite a lot of things going on in their love life.”

_“It is strange for all the good things to happen at once.”_

Sanderson noted the disappointment in his friend’s voice, and immediately inquired him about it. “You sound quite upset…”

_“I do?”_

“Yeah,” Roach’s lips slowly curved upwards into a smirk. “Wait…is this because you’re jealous of our love lives?”

Silence was what he received from the other line, but the lack of answer proved to be the confirmation of Roach’s suspicion. With a laugh, he said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t tell me—you and Yuri aren’t technically together, are you? And to think—all this time!—I thought you guys were in love!”

Nikolai sighed as a sign of defeat. _“Da, you have caught me there. Yuri is secretive, you know? It is hard to tell whether he feels the same way. And now, Makarov returns, and you tell me of how he excels in looks and money and power—“_

“He sucks in attitude,” Roach said blankly. Then, he assured, “Niki, stop being a Goddamn nervous wreck and ask Yuri out already.”

_“That, my friend, is easier said than done.”_

A small beep interrupted what Roach was about to say, and looking down at the screen, he learned he was getting another incoming call.

From Ghost.

“Shit!” Roach cursed. His senses became senstive, the ecstasy built up in him, and he hastily said goodbye to Nikolai before ending the call and answering Ghost’s.

The conversation between the two was short. Ghost was to pick Roach up and drive to the club. Apparently, the older man was at _The Hereford Times_ headquarters by the time he called—and after giving him the address, it was predicted that Ghost should arrive in about twenty minutes.

Soon, Ghost pulled up in front of Roach’s small home. The younger man stepped out and smiled at him, secretly swooning by the friendly radiance Ghost emitted upon seeing him, and how ravishing he looked in casual clothes.

Dressed in a gray hoodie, dark jeans and gray sneakers, Ghost looked younger than twenty-six.

“Let’s go, mate,” Ghost said with a grin, not dismounting his bike.

At this time of day, the sun was just setting in the horizon. The sky was in beautiful shades of orange and red, the sunlight beaming down on them was also golden in colour, and the wind which blew was warm and soothing. The elements of the day made Roach feel more attracted and welcome to Ghost than ever before.

Gingerly, the younger man mounted Ghost’s bike. Within a few seconds, they were driving down the empty streets, in the twilight of Hereford, towards the club that Roach always visited every Wednesday with Soap and Gaz.

Roach felt excited that his body was so close to Ghost’s. It wasn’t abnormal for him to lean forward and rest against Ghost’s back, since they were on a motorcycle. The other man hardly seemed to notice when Roach depended his weight on him.

It wasn’t long before they had pulled up in front of ‘The Party Haven’, the rather cheesy name of a popular and chic club in the late-night parts of quaint Hereford.

Since he was a popular man and a weekly customer, the bouncer had no qualms of letting Roach into the club, nodding briefly in acknowledgement to Ghost, who followed the younger man in. Once inside, they discovered it was only midly crowded with rich residents and youngsters, everybody talking to someone or sipping on a drink or breaking it down on the dancefloor.

Bright, colourful lights danced about the dim atmosphere and to hear anything above the boom of the music was near to impossible. Roach held Ghost’s wrist and led him through the crowd to spiralling staircase at the left end of the rectangular room. The floor above was dedicated solely to an additional bar and tables-for-two, so it was less crowded.

After taking seats by the bar and ordering their drinks, the men engaged in a conversation.

“I’d love to be a DJ here,” Ghost commented, the edge of his lips tugging upwards into a smile.

“Then they’d have way better music than the shit they have on right now,” Roach groaned, indicating the music that was playing. “The music here isn’t so nice—the only reason my friends and I come here is for the drinks. The _drinks_ are really good.”

Two, big glasses of whiskey were presented before them. The female bartender smiled proudly (having heard Roach’s comment) and retreated from the two.

Simultaneously, they grabbed their glasses and took a few healthy gulps.

Roach grinned when Ghost whistled, impressed. “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed.”

Ghost noted that a group of young women a small distance away were admiring him and Roach. Pretending he did not notice them, he leaned closer to the younger man and asked, “What’s up with the girls in this town? They’re quite the opposite from what I thought they would be.”

“Tell me about it,” Roach smiled ironically. “Not a day passes by without a word of gossip or two on the street. And I’m not meaning _bad_ kind of gossip—it’s modern day gossip mainly about fashion or crime or men…”

“What about this ‘list’ I’ve heard about?”

“Basically it’s just a list of guys that the girls are _really_ interested in. And, not to brag, I’m one of the people on The List. The others are Soap, Frost, Ramirez, Dunn and Jackson. Recently two more people have been added, though. You, and the Russian businessman, Makarov.”

“Well, _I’m_ an insanely handsome lad, and you’re bloody charming and cute, so there’s no wonder the girls are crazy for us,” Ghost laughed.

Roach’s heart skipped a beat as he watched his crush in his mirth. His ears did not miss the compliment Ghost had given him, and it burned his cheeks and raced his pulse.

“What about the others, though? How did they get on?”

Hoping his embarassment wasn’t evident in his face or voice, Roach replied:

“Frost, Ramirez and I are popular because of what we do, I guess. Our jobs make us more noticeable, especially since we’re young (and handsome, but we’re not taking any credit for that), move a lot around the city, go to a lot of events, have our names written in the papers and interact with a lot of people for the newspaper issues. Soap, Jackson and Dunn are popular for being ‘abnormally good-looking’ and having their own quirks and personalities. Soap has a nice accent and strong build, Jackson’s a flirty ass and Dunn’s a playful comedian. Makarov must be on the list because he’s an influential, Russian businessman.”

Ghost smirked. “Hasn’t anybody tried to approach you yet?”

“Of course, plenty of times,” Roach ran his fingers through his hair. “I always rejected them, though. Every girl who came up to me didn’t tick all my boxes, and honestly speaking, I don’t even know _what_ those boxes are for.”

There were a few moments of silence. And then Ghost asked, “Who’s your boss?”

“A man named MacMillan.”

“ _What?_ MacMillan?” Ghost’s blue eyes widened so much it looked as though they were going to pop out of their sockets. “Bloody hell, he’s one of Price’s long-time friends!”

“ _What?_ ” Roach was equally surprised.

The two stared at each other for a while, astonishment written on their faces, before bursting out in laughter.

“All this time we’ve had some mutual friends,” Roach took a big gulp of whiskey. “And to think back when I first met you, I was dying to figure out if there was a way to meet you again besides chance encounters.”

“Well, it’s really nice to know I’ve been occupying your thoughts for a while,” Ghost winked, rather flirtatiously, before sipping down his whiskey and demanding another big glass.

A blush came up to Roach’s cheeks, and he didn’t care whether it was visible or not. He grinned and also demanded another glass.

“So, how does MacMillan treat you, Bug? Considering he was Price’s mentor, more-or-less, he must be as much of a wanker as Price is.”

“Really? I think he’s a pretty great guy. Sure, he has a thick accent that reminds me of Soap and he’s an old man and he can be really peremptory sometimes, but he’s really a good man. MacMillan’s okay to talk to, likes to joke around and praise us and all that, but always keeps holed up in his office for most parts of the day.”

“Workaholic, eh? Just like Price! But he doesn’t sound like the stuck-up, stubborn old muppet his apprentice is.”

The drinks arrived, and the two finished half of the large mugs within a few minutes. Slowly, the alcohol was beginning to get to them—they swayed in their seats, slurred when they spoke, chuckled and laughed at random intervals. Roach also noted they were getting flirty with each sip of whiskey.

“You want to play a game, mate?” Ghost inquired, drawling his question out slowly as he leaned against the counter and clumsily insisted another glass. Before the drunken Roach can reply, he shouted out triumphantly. “Let’s play ‘Simon Says’!”

Roach chuckled. “Is it b-because your name is… _Si-mon?”_

Ghost’s smirk disappeared and he stared at Roach with a small, rather lovestruck smile. The way Roach had said his name was, by all means, incredibly sexy. He drawled it out slowly, in a low and husky tone, and when delivered with the dreamy smile and soft tint of red on the cheeks, Ghost’s name was said with nothing short of flawless.

“You sound so bloody irresistable,” Ghost sighed, leaning forward towards Roach. Their foreheads touched; their noses met; they could feel the others breaths against their faces. “Say my name again.”

“ _Si-mon,”_ Roach whispered, pouting his lips to lightly brush against Ghost’s. He smiled cheekily after the slight contact.

Ghost leaned forward again, begging for some more lip-contact, but was prevented when Roach suddenly leaned back and away from him to finish his whiskey.

With a soft curse, Ghost leaned back as well, and copied Roach’s action. Once the whiskey was finished, the two clumsily slapped the bills onto the countertop to give the bartender. Despite being drunk, they noted how the woman was slightly flushed; Roach had a good idea it was because she saw what happened between him and Ghost, but he didn’t really care at the moment.

“Let’s go downstairs!” Roach decided, his voice unusually filled with ecstasy. They tripped a few times on the way to the beginning of the stairs.

To be drunk and to descend a spiralling flight of stairs was not the brightest ideas of Roach’s life. Nevertheless, it was an action that needed to be done. Holding dependently onto the railing, he and Ghost stood side by side and gingerly went down one step at a time.

Since Roach was on the outer part of the staircase, the loss of control of his senses nearly sent him toppling over the railing, if it weren’t for Ghost holding him steady at the last minute. Roach was startled at first—he was unable to register he had nearly fell to his death—but he eventually got to idea, and turned to look at Ghost.

The dim environment and blurry perception made it hard to see him, but the older man’s eyes gleamed in the dancing illumination, the shadows and lights hitting his face nicely. His expression indicated relief—and as he spoke, the rich accent sent more tingles up Roach’s spine than it should.

“Be careful,” Ghost warned, sighing. Loosening his grip on Roach’s shoulders, he cupped the younger man’s cheek. “I almost lost you, Bug…”

“Thanks,” Roach grinned childishly, taking Ghost’s palm from his cheek and planting a soft kiss on his knuckles.

Sanderson took a few moments to stare at Ghost’s hands. He noted the roughness of his palms, the slim, long fingers, the worn-out bones of his knuckles. As he scrutinized his crush’s hands, his fingers subconsciously rubbed circles at various parts of Ghost’s palms.

They were only halfway down the seemingly endless, spiralling staircase that made them dizzy and everything around them blurry. Despite that, Roach was caught off guard when Ghost leaned forward and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer…

He remembered that, at the exact same moment their lips met, Ghost exhaled. The breath was warm against his skin, but that warmth was nothing compared to the heat that burned his cheeks, throbbed his heart and sent butterflies to his stomach. Returning the kiss, he nearly swooned by the gentle, inviting movement of Ghost’s lips, and the taste of the earlier whiskey, and the smell of his strong perfume.

At some point they finally got down to the first floor and left the bar, and Roach remembered stumbling into a small, modern apartment that he was unfamiliar with. He recalled that Ghost threw himself onto the bland sofa, and that he cuddled up next to the older man.

Some time later saw them as they found their way into the bedroom, staggering inside while still locked in a heated-up make-out session, hands feeling each other and tongues slipping past. Following the slam of the wooden door, Roach was pushed down onto the bed. Yes, he recalled watching Ghost as he slowly undid the buttons on Roach’s shirt—one at a time, an agonizingly slow process…

Then Ghost was planting kisses all over his neck, and the following events were nothing more than a blur.

* * *

 

Sunlight seeped into the room through the blinds, conveniently focusing on Roach’s face. This aroused him from sleep, and the younger man’s eyes opened wide at the welcoming warmth of the new morning.

Without moving a muscle, he looked about the room, immediately noticing that something was off. This wasn’t _his_ bedroom…

Cautiously sitting up, his mind began to piece together what could have happened. Though he recalled nothing of the previous night (only up to the point he was talking to Ghost about MacMillan), Roach’s common sense could figure out what took place. A rising alarm and embarrassment took root in his chest as he braved himself to look at the other side of the double-bed.

Ghost slept soundly next to him, hair rustled and expression serene. Without a shirt, Roach noted the condition of his torso—the chiseled shape of the chest, the firm outline of his abs, the suggestive details of the waist.

Roach realized that he, too, was shirtless. With a blush, he looked down and learned that the blanket (that he and Ghost shared) only draped up to their hips…and Roach was too afraid to pull the blanket off, in fear he would discover evidence of…‘inappropriate activity’ between him and Ghost.

There was a digital clock on the end table that read half past eleven in the morning. And Roach was supposed to be at work by ten.

Then, as if on cue, Ghost stirred from sleep. Roach could feel the blush creeping up to his cheeks as the older man rubbed his eyes, stretched and squinted at Roach.

“Bug?” he asked, confused.

After a few more stretches, Ghost sat up. Much to Roach’s surprise (and it surprised him that he was surprised), Ghost still had his jeans on.

Sanderson then realized that he, too, still had his jeans on.

Ghost stared from the bed, then to himself and then to Roach. His eyes widened as memories of last night came crashing back to him, and instead of blushing like Roach would, a wide smirk formed on his face.

“W-What are you smiling about?” Roach stammered, frowning at Ghost’s smug expression.

“If I was in actual control last night, I would’ve left more than just one hickey, and our pants wouldn’t be on us right now,” Ghost said casually, and this made Roach’s jaw drop.

“W-Wait, you don’t mind that—“

“That we kissed and nearly jumped each others’ bones?” Ghost finsihed, raising an eyebrow.  “Nope.”

Roach fell silent for a while. “Does that mean that… you like me back?”

Ghost smiled. Abruptly, he leaned forward, and Roach flinched, but it didn’t prevent the soft kiss that the older man planted on his lips.

“Your eyes are stunning,” Ghost whispered, referring to the moment they first met—back when they didn’t even know each other, locked in a long and meaningful gaze. His indication of that precious moment sent Roach’s heart skyrocketing.

Roach wasn’t actually sure how to respond to the insanely romantic kiss. However, the problem didn’t become an issue because the two resorted to gazing into each others’ eyes, small smiles lingering on their lips.

“All this time, I…I thought I was the only one…” Roach started, but was interrupted when the other man put a finger on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it, Lovebug,” Ghost grinned. At the mention of his newly-altered nickname, Roach’s heart melted with the volumes of happiness that filled him. The older man raised an eyebrow, inquiring, “Well, that’s if you’ll give me the permission to call you that.”

“Of course,” Roach laughed with all of the contained mirth and excitement that welled up in him over the past week.

All of a sudden, the bedroom door burst open.

“ _AHA! There_ you are!” Frost exclaimed triumphantly, pointing an accusing finger towards the two as he took one step into the room.

Roach’s face became so red; it was comparable to a tomato. “F-Frost?”

“It wasn’t like you to not show up at work, so I called up MacTavish,” Frost grinned, not in the least ashamed at the half-naked figures of Roach and Ghost, as he nodded towards Soap, who was standing outside the door with a blush on his cheeks. “You weren’t at home, so then he called Price, and Price gave us Ghost’s address.”

“Bloody wanker!” Ghost cursed at the mention of Price.

“So, did I interrupt a sexy moment or…?”

Roach blushed deeper, if that was any more possible. “ _Frost_!”

The blonde grinned. “Sorry, buddy, if I did. But you’re both still in jeans, so I’ll take you’re still as pure as the driven snow--“ (Roach groaned and facepalmed. Could Frost get any more embarrassing?) “—but your virginity can wait. We have to go interview a Vladimir Makarov.”

Soap innocently watched as Roach cursed and restrained himself from knocking Frost’s ass down the concrete.


	5. Chapter 5

On the way to the site of interview, Frost and Roach bumped into another friend of theirs.

Joseph Allen’s hair was a deep shade of brown; one could have mistaken it for black. His eyes were green, a shade lighter than Roach’s—and he was a pleasure to look at with a lean build and strong arms. Despite being the same age, Allen’s body made him look a few years older than Frost and Roach.

It was always a pleasure to be around him. He was amiable and full of spirit, but Allen constantly went overseas to run certain errands, thus he was rarely available in Hereford to spend time with his friends. However, Roach heard these international affairs gave Allen a good deal of experience and money, lucky guy.

 Since Allen was free and bored (and neither Ramirez nor Dunn had the time to spend with him), he was allowed to accompany Frost and Roach in their interview with Vladimir Makarov.

Frost and Allen entertained themselves with stories of Roach’s night with Ghost. Roach retorted something about Sandman and it was his turn to laugh as Frost flushed.

They were nearing a gray office building composed of concrete and glass. It was of medium height, only about five floors or so. According to their resources, Vladimir Makarov was scheduled to be in the building for a meeting and the exclusive interview from _The Hereford Times._

Entering in through the sliding glass doors, a gust of cold air blew against the trio’s faces as they entered the polished lobby. A few security guards lingered about, important-looking men and women were waiting on the prepared seats with impatient faces, some of them were scribbling on a piece of paper with the prepared pen and desk, workers behind the counter were talking affably with customers who sat across them.

Frost approached a worker behind the counter and said politely. “Excuse me, miss?”

The young woman behind the counter, who was originally glaring at the computer screen in front of her, looked up at Frost. Almost immediately her irate expression vanished, and a blush tinted her cheeks as she smiled shyly at the handsome blonde.

“We’re from _The Hereford Times,”_ Frost told her. “We’ve come to interview Mr. Vladimir Makarov. Is he free at the moment?”

The woman excused herself and the trio watched as she approached a few other workers and talked to them. The other ladies glanced at the three friends and broke into smiles and coy giggles, whispering “It’s Westbrook!” a bit louder than they should.

“Too bad you’re taken, eh?” Roach teased, nudging Frost by digging his elbow into his ribs.

Frost blushed slightly and rolled his blue eyes as the worker approached them and said, “Y-Yes, Mr. Makarov will see you now.”

After nodding thanks, they approached the lifts and went up to the fourth floor, where they approached a room for meeting purposes. However, there was only one man in there—the Russian man who Roach remembered nearly tripped Soap over on Thursday night.

The interview was strictly business and quite mundane, one which Frost conducted (replacing Ramirez, who was supposed to do the interview but had other things to do) and Roach took pictures of. Since he played no particular role, Allen sat behind the two, a bit of between them, so he sat directly facing Makarov.

It startled him that the Russian had a different colour for each eye. One was a light, tender blue, whereas the other was a gentle shade of green. Embarrassing as it was, Allen found his eyes beautiful, but he did feel a bit nervous under the piercing stare that Makarov gave him.

When the Russian spoke to answer questions, his voice was sharp and icy. This mixed well with the dark (and creepy) aura that engulfed the three younger men when they were with him. Albeit having been only five minutes in his company, they were under the impression that Makarov was an evil man.

Feeling awkward that Makarov was staring at him, Allen rose from his seat and basically wandered around the meeting room, glancing down at the bustling street below and scrutinizing a notice board hung on the wall.

Roach realized, with a sense of mischief rising in his chest, that Makarov’s eyes followed Allen wherever he went. Sometimes when Allen made an embarrassingly childish exclamation, or made a blatant comment of the scenery, the edge of the Russian’s lips would slightly, _slightly,_ curve upwards into a smirk. In fact, Roach’s opinion was that Makarov was hardly paying any attention to what Frost was asking.

“Thanks, sir,” Frost (finally) finished his interview, giving a small, deferential bow. As he and Roach rose from their seats, the older man halted them with an authoritative raise of the hand.

“What are your names?” he asked. Again the cold tone of his voice sent shudders down their spines.

“I’m Sanderson, this is Fro—I mean, Westbrook,” Roach flashed a brief, sheepish smile to the blonde before pointing to their brown-haired friend across the room. “And…that’s Allen.”

Frost and Roach glanced at each other for a moment. They both noted Makarov took a small interest in Allen, and their suspicions were confirmed when the businessman nodded slowly at the mention of Allen’s name. They also did not miss the murmur of his lips when Makarov repeated Allen’s name under his breath.

Smirks broke out on their faces when Makarov requested to speak to Allen alone. Allen’s face became pale and he watched hopelessly as his friends patted him on the shoulder and exited the meeting room.

Once they closed the door behind them, Roach and Frost burst in laughter. This went on for a minute or so.

“Oh God, that expression was priceless!” Frost gasped out, trying to keep his laughter in control.

Roach’s expression was similar to that of the Chesire cat’s. “Dude, this is unbelievable. I always knew Allen was attractive to people, but—a powerful Russian businessman? Slap me.”

Frost did.

“I didn’t mean it literally!” Roach glared at the laughing man, pressing a palm against his recently-hit cheek. He raised a hand to punch his buddy in the arm, but at that moment, Allen exited the room.

“Why did you guys leave me?” Allen asked, his tone disbelieving.

“What did he ask you? Or…do to you?” Frost’s eyes inspected Allen’s lips and neck, in search of any signs of _you-know-what._

Noticing his gaze, Allen blushed. “Nothing like _that_ happened, alright? I was only in there for three minutes, geez!”

Roach chuckled, and the brunette continued, “I was offered a job to be his secretary. It sounds so lame…and at first I didn’t want to, but he said that he was permanently staying in Hereford to spread out his business and…at least I’ll have a steady job and can stay here, instead of going overseas most of the time, right?”

Looking up, he met with the startled faces of Frost and Roach.

“What?” Allen asked, noting how they both looked like gaping fishes.

When they began to laugh, it took everything for him to restrain from pummelling the two into the ground.

“Let me guess, you have his card?” Roach, still chuckling, put a hand on his shoulder, and received a nod as a reply. “I knew it, man. You’ve caught his eye.”

Allen flushed. “What? No, dude! I’m just…secretary material…?”

He bit his lip, embarrassed by how lame that sounded.

* * *

 

Sunday evenings were Roach’s favourite times of the week. Not only because his friends knew not to disturb him on his ‘Only-Me’ day, but also because the newest edition of _The Hereford Times_ were always published on Sundays, and he could marvel in the articles and be proud of the pictures he took.

On that particular evening, Roach felt the want to revisit the park he and Ghost first met. He loved walking through there—the fragrant smell of nature and blissful laughter of children always soothed his soul. It also sent fuzzy feelings to his chest, since it was where he met his crush.

Roach stopped in the middle of the very bridge he was standing on two weeks ago on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon, the day he first heard of and saw Ghost. He leaned forward and smiled at his reflection, bouts of memories coming over him.

“I’ve finally found out his name,” Roach overheard a nearby woman say to another. “It’s Simon Riley. He’s a Britisher!”

The other replied, “I’ve heard rumours he was with another young man at The Party Haven on Friday night.”

“ _I_ heard that he was a DJ at Cora’s fashion show on Thursday night.”

“Oh! He’s such an interesting person. Deviously handsome, too. If only I can get to know him…”

Roach smiled sheepishly at the water. Poor, poor women. If only they knew that their man of interest wasn’t actually attracted to the opposite sex.

“I-Isn’t that Riley?” One of them gasped.

Sanderson looked up. Ghost was approaching him with a wide smile on his face, holding two, closed paper cups with straws.

“How did you know I was here?” Roach asked, a smile crossing his features as he accepted one of the cups. Ghost stood next to him on the bridge, and Roach took a sip of his drink. It was a carbonated drink. “Have you been stalking me?”

“I just had a hunch, Lovebug,” Ghost murmured as he took a sip.

Roach’s heart melted at the mention of the nickname. He loved his new callsign, one that only Ghost was allowed to call him, one that reminded him that Ghost loved him.

“Is it true that each day of the week, you spend with a specific friend?” Ghost asked, amused, and Roach nodded with a smile. “You don’t mind telling me with whom?”

“Sundays are ‘Only-Me’ days,” Roach began. “Mondays are with Ramirez, Tuesdays are with Frost, Wednesdays are with Gaz, and usually Soap joins in. Thursdays are with Soap, Fridays are usually with either Dunn or Jackson, or both. Saturdays are for Yuri and Nikolai. If any of them can’t make it for the evening, I’d usually invite over other friends or spend the day alone.”

“Well, now that you have Simon Riley in your life, why not make Sundays Simon-days?”

Roach smirked. “I don’t have to. Every day is Simon-day to me, darling.”

Ghost’s smile widened. Simultaneously, they glanced at the two women nearby. They were gossiping (loudly) about the two men, excited to see the two handsome stars of Hereford having a conversation by the side of the bridge.

“Oh yeah…I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Ghost started, turning away from the women and staring at Roach with a serious look. “Umm…you _are_ my boyfriend, right?”

Roach blushed. “I…I think so. When you asked if you could call me ‘Lovebug’, I just took it as an indirect question to go steady…”

“That’s good to hear,” he looked relieved. “I was beginning to think you didn’t get my hidden meaning behind those words.”

Roach smiled, and was about to say something, until Ghost pulled out an all-too-familiar-looking small book that sent alarm rising to the younger man’s chest.

“Shit…my memo-pad,” Roach could feel his cheeks burning. His embarrassing notes and shopping lists and doodles, _especially_ his personal notes of Ghost before they became friends… “Did I leave that at your house yesterday morning?”

“You sure did, you clumsy muppet,” Ghost said affectionately, smirking as he flipped to a certain page. “So, looking through this, I was bloody flattered, really. I can’t believe you jotted down every little fact of me before we got to know each other…intimately.”

Roach bit the insides of his cheeks and swooped in to snatch the memo-pad away. He was successful, and Ghost grinned at his mortification.

“At least now I have a good idea of how attractive I was to you before we met at the fashion show.”

The brownish-blonde-haired man was silent for a while. The quietness was more meaningful than awkward, especially since the wind blew at that time and made Ghost look so handsome that it made Roach’s heart leap to his mouth.

“You know, recently, I noticed something,” Roach started, turning around and taking a sip of his drink before staring into the lake. “My life…well, in this boring town, it’s always been uninteresting. My career as a photographer wasn’t much to look at, either. Same thing went for my friends. All of us were single, almost nothing was happening in our jobs…”

Ghost listened, staring at the side of Roach’s face as the younger man spoke seriously. “And then, that all changes. I realized that our lives are getting better. Interesting events start to take place in our small town, our careers as editors and photographers become active and lively, and a bunch of other stuff, too.

Soap meets and falls in love with Price, Ramirez’s and Dunn’s relationship is _finally_ developing into something more, Allen’s gotten a steady job (and a probable love interest), Frost is getting involved with Sandman, Nikolai is slowly building the courage to ask Yuri out…and then I meet you, and I fall in love with you, and you get a job, and we end up in a relationship…”

His sentence trailed off, leaving Ghost a bit bewildered and at a loss of what to say. Hesitantly, he scratched his chin and answered, “Erm…true…these miracles all seem to happen all at the same time…”

“Nope,” Roach grinned cheekily, looking up to face Ghost. “All these miracles happen _after you’ve arrived at Hereford.”_

Ghost was silent for a while, before chuckling and raising an eyebrow. “Are you saying that _I’m_ the reason these good things are happening? That’s ridiculous, love. They’re all just coincidences…”

Then, with a much softer tone, he muttered, almost to himself. “All I ever bring is dismay…”

Roach took a step closer to Ghost and put a hand on his. Looking up, Ghost saw the most breath-taking smile he’s ever seen—a gentle curve of the fully-puckered lips, set into an assuring and soothing smile on the face of the most handsome man he had ever met. On the face of the one man Ghost ever loved.

“Call me a sappy bastard, but ever since you’ve come into my life, I feel fulfilled,” Roach smiled affectionately.

Ghost stared at him, feeling more touched than he should. What his lover told him at that moment made him feel welcomed, made him feel at home—it made him feel as though he finally had a _purpose._ All those years of suffering and trying to stay sane seemed so far away when he was with Roach…

Overwhelmed with emotion, Ghost glanced at the two women nearby (who were watching them intently) and allowed a mischievious smirk to play across his face. “Lovebug, do the women here know that almost every guy on ‘The List’ is taken?”

Roach followed his gaze. He stared at the women (who were now smiling bashfully since the two were looking at them) and chuckled. “Nope! I can’t imagine how they would react to the fact we’re not attracted to women…”

“What do you think they were talking about just now?”

“Maybe about to spread the news that the ‘super-cute’ Sanderson is _best friends_ with the ‘alluringly mysterious’ Riley. Huh, the sad thing is that their idea of our relationship is completely wrong.”

“It’s pity to have them believe a lie,” Ghost chuckled. “Hmm, let’s just give them the truth, shall we?”

Before Roach can ask what Ghost meant, the older man had slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer, before he leaned down and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Despite being caught off guard, Roach immediately melted into his arms, savouring the fact he was so close to Ghost, and returned the affectionate contact.

Both of them smiled into the kiss when they heard the scandalized gasps of their fans…

Oh, well. Crushed are the hopes and dreams of the women of Hereford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know this fic was terribly short, but out of all my works, it's my favourite. xD Hope you enjoyed reading it, and thanks for even reading this far!
> 
> Leave kudos, and thanks again! :D


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